L'Homme Qui N'Entend Pas

I.
The little bird brought me one
With a hand to shake, and eyes
And a mouth never designed for small talk
In a sanctuary packed with people,
Signing souls and prices to baskets,
Free dinners for two,
And an elliptical trainer
Not worth the hundred bucks that bought it.

II.
The Golden Boy stuffed with Tofurkey,
Scrutinized words on a computer screen
And 24 hours later smuggled me
Thirty minutes northeast
To a house with Latin on the front door
And a bed that harbored a velvet blanket
And the true purpose for that mouth.

III.
His broken headboard in Harrisburg,
Facilitated by a party of four,
Began the night.
And later I was not underdressed
As a flame slowly devoured
The wick of a peppermint candle.

IV.
A plush patch of sky blue was anchored
As a murmur sought permission.
He made one more drive around the block
Before I stopped weeping and got out.

V.
Fasnacht saw his car parked
A maze’s turn from home
And a bruise
That could have swallowed Houston
On the cradle of my collarbone.
Later, he called it magnificent.

VI.
Smothered yips and unbidden laughter
Pervaded the night
Of amends and endings.
At last he came and I flew.